


My Desire Builds A Broken Altar

by 13Kat13



Series: These Rotten Scriptures [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: BAMF Katsuki Yuuri, BAMF everyone tbh, Brief background chumetti, Engagement, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mafia Katsuki Yuuri, Mafia Victor Nikiforov, Possessive Behavior, Russian Mafia, Smut, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, Weddings, Yakuza, don't at me, like if you squint - Freeform, mild violence, not gonna lie pretty proud of this title, shameless twilight honeymoon ideas stealing, ya girl's feeling poetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 13:18:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13Kat13/pseuds/13Kat13
Summary: “As many as get in your way, my most beautiful monster. You are a god of chaos and desire. Maybe Aphrodite isn’t right. Maybe you are Freyja, goddess of war and beauty… mmm… yes. You are blood and lust and sin and love and good and bad. You are a gorgeous contradiction, folded into a paradox. No artist could truly capture you, because you are not meant for anything as meagre as paint.”[Second in the Mafia AU series. It's wedding time, lads. That means wedding night. And y'all know what that means, my good bitches.]





	My Desire Builds A Broken Altar

**Author's Note:**

> MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM YES. Very excited to post wedding night shenanigans.
> 
> I thought I wrote the first in this series in past tense, so wrote this in past tense and then changed it to present, so if you spot anything in the wrong tense please let me know, many thanks.
> 
> Enjoy!

Of course at first, not everyone in the bratva takes to having a Japanese yakuza member as co-pakhan. Especially one that had been the son of the oyassan, and is now brother to the new leader. There are mutters, unrest among the ranks. Yuuri ignores it until it becomes an issue.

 

They are at a party together, some bratva member having gotten engaged and wanting to celebrate. Victor and Yuuri are of course invited, partly because the couple wants the pakhan’s blessing to get married. It is held in the family of the bride’s country estate, a fine manor house with a large ballroom for just such an occasion. The ballroom is typically Russian; lots of gold and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The guests are dressed to the nines, women in floor length gowns and men in their best suits.

 

Victor and Yuuri are also engaged, but for a far longer period of course, Yuuri’s proposal dating back to before they’d gone public in that rather spectacular manner. Their own wedding is set for the end of that summer. They are both decked out in the sharpest of suits and Victor is unable to keep his hands to himself. Yuuri gives him a stern look as Victor’s hand drifts lower than is proper on his back. Victor just grins sheepishly and moves his hand back up.

 

“I must say the pair of you are looking dashing tonight,” Christophe Giocometti drawls, coming up to stand on Yuuri’s other side.

 

“You’re not looking too bad yourself,” Yuuri returns, eyeing Chris’ burgundy suit, which not just anyone can pull off.

 

“Thank you, ma beauté,” Chris says with a gracious nod. “But I think you two are rather stealing all the attention tonight.”

 

“My Yuuri always steals the attention,” Victor joins, squeezing Yuuri’s hip in a possessive and pleased way.

 

“Behave, Vitya,” Yuuri admonishes him, and Victor goes back to holding him normally.

 

Chris laughs at this little show, shaking his head at how whipped Victor clearly is.

 

“I actually came to tell you,” Chris says, drawing closer and lowering his voice. “There’s talk among the men.”

 

“Oh?” Victor asks, looking displeased.

 

“Yes,” Chris says, nodding at Victor’s expression. _“That_ sort of talk. They don’t like that Yuuri’s not Russian. Nevermind that he’s Japanese yakuza. And him being part of the yakuza head family? Forget it. They’re not happy. At the moment they’re too scared of you, Victor, to do anything about it. But give them enough time…”

 

“I see,” Victor says, and the cool anger in his voice has the same effect as ever on Yuuri, sending a hot thrill of arousal through him.

 

“I had tried to ignore it,” Yuuri sighs. “But an unloyal man or woman will not follow my orders as effectively as they would if they are loyal. Victor’s men would die for him, but not for me… not to mention if they decide to stage a coup. This needs remedying.”

 

“What did you have in mind, bunny?” Victor asks.

 

“Weed out the disloyal, whip them into shape or get rid of them. Kill them if they know too much.”

 

“Ruthless, I like it,” Victor agrees, giving Yuuri a heated look.

 

“Chris,” Yuuri says, turning to the Swiss, who is watching this exchange with amusement, “I can trust you to find those who are disloyal? There will be more than those you overheard tonight.”

 

“Of course, ma beauté,” Chris agrees, bowing deeply and kissing Yuuri’s hand just to make him roll his eyes, though he can’t help the smile. “Have a good night.”

 

Then Chris takes his leave. Yuuri spies Yakov eyeing them curiously, his ex wife, Lilia, standing with him and surveying the room.

 

Yakov hadn’t been best pleased when Victor returned with Yuuri on his arm. But he’d come around once he’d seen how capable Yuuri is, his leadership combined with Victor’s meaning that they increased their profit across the board. His trust means a lot to Yuuri. From what he understood, Yakov is a sort of father to Victor when his actual father had been somewhat distant, apparently finding Victor far too reminiscent of his dead wife to be fully comfortable around the boy.

 

“Now,” Yuuri says, turning back to Victor, “what do you say we really give them something to talk about?”

 

Victor grins and offers his arm. They sweep out onto the dancefloor together, Victor’s hand going to Yuuri’s waist, Yuuri’s on his shoulder.

 

They are very good, and several couples stop to watch them. They waltz first, and then the music changes and they do their favourite; the tango. They switch the lead back and forth, Yuuri getting dragged across the floor in an arrastre, but then Victor getting dipped. When they finish there’s a round of applause. Yuuri blinks, having been too wrapped in the dance to notice how everyone’s watching them.

 

“That was fun,” Victor says, looking flushed and happy. “But I need a drink and some air.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

They grab glasses of champagne, accepting the praise given by other guests graciously. They manage to escape together through the french doors leading to the patio.

 

The night is clear and star strewn, a few people out to enjoy the fresh air. The summer leaves the night warm enough to enjoy but cool enough to be refreshing.

 

Victor and Yuuri wander down into the gardens. There is a cool moistness about the air among the vegetation at night.

 

Fairy lights have been strung up among the trees and bushes for the occasion. There’s a rose garden, the flowers lush with summer, and jasmine grows up trelices surrounding the garden walls. Their combined scent is lovely on the night air.

 

Victor and Yuuri stroll together, arm in arm. Eventually they happen upon a gazebo, more fairy lights winding up its support beams.

 

“Shall we?” Victor asks, offering Yuuri his hand.

 

“Always,” Yuuri agrees, taking his hand so they can step up into the gazebo together.

 

They sway together there, Yuuri’s head on Victor’s shoulder, following their own music.

 

“Are you okay?” Victor asks after a little while.

 

Yuuri shrugs. He is a bit tired of it all to be honest. While he enjoys what he and Victor do and wouldn’t change their life for anything, he doesn’t like not having unswerving devotion among those he commands.

 

“I’m not used to having men that aren’t loyal. Being the son of the oyassan meant all the kodomo were willing to die for me without me having to say one word… It’s strange not commanding men like that.”

 

“I’m sorry, moya zvezda,” Victor murmurs, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead. “We’ll sort them out. Then you’ll have only loyal men.”

 

Yuuri hums in agreement, and closes his eyes to enjoy the warmth of Victor against him, his arms around him.

 

When they return to the ballroom, Victor and he get dragged away from each other as Lilia insists on talking to Yuuri about his ballet, and one of Victor’s more senior mob members wants to talk to him about passport forgery.

 

As Yuuri is listening to Lilia tell him she thinks he’d suit the Firebird — quite the compliment as that was her role as principal ballerina for the Bolshoi — he spies Anna Fedorova slipping in close beside Victor. Yuuri’s jaw tightens.

 

Anna had been a potential wife for Victor, paraded in front of him when he’d been single and needed to marry to produce an heir. She is blonde and curvy and annoyingly pretty, though perhaps a little too much botox around the lips. Her dress, a gold, silk number, clings to her admittedly good body, and plunges low to expose her ample cleavage.

 

Anna laughs at something Victor says, and lays a hand on his arm. Victor grimaces and plucks her hand off him. Anna looks momentarily embarrassed, but she’s still fluttering her eyelashes at him and simpering and Yuuri has to fight the urge to go over and slap her.

 

“Easy, Yurasha,” Lilia says sternly, arching one brow to devastating effect. “You are a prima no? You are jealous of no one, especially not silly sluts in dresses that make them look like a dumb whore.”

 

Yuuri snorts into his champagne glass. Then —

 

“She’s just being so obvious about it,” he burst out, unable to help himself. “He’s engaged to _me,_ he’s going to marry _me,_ and yet she’s over there looking like she’ll bend over and present herself at any moment.”

 

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Lilia says, a rare smirk on her lips. “But you are so much better than her. And primas don’t get jealous. They get revenge.”

 

Yuuri turns to her, arching an eyebrow in question.

 

“Make Vitka come to you,” Lilia says, her chin high and her back straight as ever as she speaks. “And when he does, you show that Anna girl _exactly_ why he chose you.”

 

Yuuri grins, nods, and turns back to Victor.

 

Victor looks like he is getting bored with the conversation, his eyes wandering. As always, they find Yuuri. Victor positively lights up when he sees Yuuri watching him. He excuses himself from the group he’s with, and makes his way over.

 

“Remember,” Lilia says, as she takes a step away, “you are a prima.”

 

Yuuri smiles and nods, bending down to loosen the knot of his lace.

 

Victor reaches him just as Lilia slips away. Yuuri can see Anna looking annoyed behind him.

 

“Having fun, my love?” Yuuri asks innocently.

 

“Not without you,” Victor says, snuggling up to him and pecking him on the lips.

 

“Well it looked like Anna was ready to give you a good time,” Yuuri says, raising his eyebrows at Victor.

 

“Ugh, god, I know,” Victor agrees, rolling his eyes. “I thought she’d stop once we were engaged publicly, but she seems to think she’s still got a chance before the wedding. I may have slept with women before, but she must know I prefer men romantically.”

 

“She seems to think that when it comes to marriage, you’ll be wanting heirs born of your actual partner rather than a surrogate.”

 

“Psh, I don’t care, I’d just be happy to have any children with you,” Victor replies, looking sulky. “I’d actually like to adopt, but the child needs to be legitimate if they want to inherit the seat of the pakhan.”

 

“Hmm…” Yuuri hums, then; “Vitya, my lace has come undone.”

 

“Oh, of course, bunny.”

 

Victor bends to kneel on the floor as Yuuri holds out his foot. Yuuri makes eye contact with Anna as Victor ties his lace for him, winking before he takes a sip of champagne. Anna looks furious.

 

They dance again after that, Yuuri laying a possessive hand on Victor’s neck and the tango ever so slightly more filthy than usual. Victor chuckles.

 

“I like this look on you, dear.”

 

“What look?” Yuuri asks, distracted as he smirks at Anna as they twirl past her.

 

“Jealousy.”

 

“I feel no such thing. Jealousy is for lesser people.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“I’m not jealous! She is nothing to me. Insignificant. Not worthy of my notice.”

 

“If you say so, bunny.”

 

When they pause to take a break, Yuuri sees Anna heading to the balcony, no doubt to get some air. He follows.

 

Outside, he spies Anna going down into the garden, pausing to smell a rose before continuing on. Yuuri follows and finds her a little way away from the party, stopped again to smell another rose.

 

 _“Lovely night,”_ he says in Russian, making Anna jump and spin around.

 

 _“Oh, Mr Katsuki,”_ Anna says, her tone respectful even though her lip curls with contempt. _“Good evening.”_

 

 _“Hello, Anna,”_ Yuuri returns, stepping forward and cupping a rose between his fingers, running a thumb over the petals.

 

 _“Are you enjoying the party?”_ Anna asks, one arm folded across her midriff, the other bent to hold her wine glass.

 

_“I would enjoy it more if you would stop falling over yourself to try and catch my fiance’s attention. Honestly, I’d have thought you had more self respect, practically on your knees for him.”_

 

Yuuri snorts and rolls his eyes, smiling as though the whole thing is amusing to him and he’s not restraining himself from snapping the bitch’s neck.

 

The smile slips from Anna’s face. To give her credit, she doesn’t look scared, though she knows Yuuri has killed people for less.

 

 _“I was under the impression the pakhan would need someone with the right… capabilities, as a partner,”_ Anna says lightly, shrugging as though she hasn’t just insulted one of the most dangerous men in Russia.

 

Yuuri raises his eyebrows at her.

 

 _“I’m impressed,”_ he says. _“I didn’t think a little slut like you had the guts to insult me.”_

 

 _“I was supposed to be Victor wife,”_ Anna snaps out then, losing her temper at being called a slut. _“He needs an obedient, well behaved,_ Russian _wife who’s going to make him look good in front of the bratva and the other gangs. Not some little Japanese whore who can’t even give him children.”_

 

Anna’s slammed up against the trelise before she can so much as gasp. Her wine glass hits the floor and burst into pieces as Yuuri’s fingers tightens on her throat, making her choke and scrabble at his hand.

 

 _“You listen here, you little bitch,”_ Yuuri hisses, stepping very close. _“I don’t care who you’ve fucked to get to where you are, your family certainly isn’t high up enough to merit being displayed to Vitya as a potential wife. But mark my words, I have killed for a lot less and I will make your death painful and slow if I get even a hint of you coming near my fiance again. Is that understood, slut?”_

 

Anna coughs and gasps but manages to do something like a nod. Yuuri releases her, and she staggers, clutching the trelise for support.

 

 _“Now,”_ Yuuri says, taking a knife from his belt. _“A tongue that rude needs to be sorted out before it gets you in trouble...”_

 

“Yuuri?”

 

Victor’s voice filters through the gardens from a little way off, just as Yuuri’s kneeling on Anna’s chest, forcing her mouth open. Yuuri looks up.

 

 _“Over here, love,”_ Yuuri calls back, releasing Anna who scrambles away from him, terrified.

 

Victor finds them a moment later, and slows as he takes in the way Anna is sat on the floor, backed up against the trelise and clutching her neck.

 

 _“Are you having fun, bunny?”_ Victor asks, coming up to him and nuzzling his nose into Yuuri’s neck.

 

 _“The most fun,”_ Yuuri returns, laying a possessive hand on the back of Victor’s neck that makes his cheeks flush and his eyes sparkle. _“Anna and I were just having a little chat. I was going to help her with her attitude problem, but you interrupted us, my dear.”_

 

 _“Well don’t stop on my account,”_ Victor says. _“I’m so glad you’re getting along. Anna can be an, ahem, persuasive woman. Gets into all sorts of places and positions.”_

 

Yuuri laughs.

 

_“Oh I’m sure. But no, Anna may need that tongue to carry on being… persuasive”_

 

Anna twitches, but keeps her eyes averted despite the thinly veiled insults.

 

 _“Shall we go, my star?”_ Victor asks, squeezing Yuuri’s hip. _“There’s this thing I want to try with you and it got delivered earlier today. Are you opposed to blindfolds?”_

 

 _“Not at all,”_ Yuuri replies as they turns to take their leave. _“Though I assume you’ll want me to step on you before you blindfold me.”_

 

_“But of course, bunny.”_

 

They leave, thanking the happy couple and bidding a few others goodbye before they manage to make an escape.

 

* * *

 

Before he met Victor in person, Yuuri had been rather surprised when he’d first found out Victor has a poodle. Victor just didn’t seem the type to fuss over a dog, but there are plenty of pictures of him doing just that.

 

As it is, Makkachin has taken to having a second dad with glee. Yuuri’s playing with him in the grounds of the manor house when Chris and Yakov find him.

 

“We’ve found the disloyal gang members,” Yakov says by way of greeting, brusque and gruff as ever.

 

Chris takes the time to kiss Yuuri on each cheek before he gets down to business.

 

“There’s not actually very many of them, you’ll be pleased to know,” Chris assures him as they head towards the house together, Makkachin trotting along beside them. “When you first started I suspect there were more. But you’ve since proved yourself a valuable asset and fearless leader.”

 

“Good,” Yuuri sighs as they step into the house. “That’s good.”

 

The manor house is named after one of Victor’s ancestors, Alexandra Hall, the manor having been built for Alexandra Nikiforova by her husband. A sprawling estate just outside Saint Petersburg, it’s been in Victor’s family for generations. While Victor has an apartment in the centre of the city for convenience after a late night, the manor is his main home.

 

Yuuri, Chris and Yakov step into the gallery, strolling up the long room as Chris tells Yuuri how he has arranged for the men to be bought to one of their warehouses.

 

Yuuri honestly can’t really be bothered with the whole thing, and asks Victor to go in his place. He feels exhausted by it all, and just wants some space from it.

 

While Victor’s gone, Yuuri checks over the numbers for some shipments, makes a couple of calls, and then wraps up business. He changes into some comfy clothes and lounges in the TV room, which is more like a home cinema.

 

Victor finds him wrapped in a blanket and watching a movie with a blank expression, eyes not really seeing the screen.

 

Victor curls into his side on the couch, getting under the blanket with him.

 

“How’re you doing?” Victor asks gently, stroking Yuuri’s hair back from his face.

 

Yuuri just shrugs. He doesn’t feel much like talking about it.

 

“The men have come around,” Victor offers. “And the two that didn’t have been… let go.”

 

Yuuri snorts, knowing what “let go” means.

 

They rearrange themselves so they are lying down, Yuuri between Victor's legs and resting on his chest. They fall silent for a while, Victor stroking Yuuri’s hair.

 

“How about you have a nap, love? You’ll feel better after some rest,” Victor suggests.

 

Yuuri had been drifting anyway, and hums as he let himself relax fully.

 

* * *

 

The months following are a little easier, what with the disloyal having been dealt with, but Yuuri still doesn’t feel that there is total acceptance among the ranks. It took the Mikhailov job to solve any lingering doubts that may have been unvoiced.

 

The Mikhailovs are a wealthy family that look clean on the surface, but are rotten underneath. Victor took the job because he heard it would expand their influence in the pharmaceutical sector, which the Mikhailovs had been running up to then, selling prescription drugs and controlling the shares in the drug market.

 

Yuuri is eager for the job, itching for something substantial to sink his teeth into. It takes him three months to bring down the whole family. He picks apart their business first, making their stocks plummet through carefully placed calls and hacking.

 

Once he is done with that, Yuuri starts on the family members. He ruins lives, reputations and careers. One of the sons shoots himself in the head.

 

All that’s left to do is take out the one potential investor that could save the family. Yuuri snipes the man as he’s going into a restaurant from a distance of 3,542 metres. It would’ve been a new world record if he’d been able to own up to it.

 

Victor takes over the business, and the bratva expands into pharmaceuticals. Any doubt that Yuuri isn’t a capable leader is firmly squashed.

 

* * *

 

Their wedding is of course completely ridiculous. Yuuri would have preferred a small celebration, but with Victor being the pakhan — and Yuuri quietly being co-pakhan — they of course can’t. Plus Victor loves this sort of thing.

 

The reception is held in The Palace Chapel at the Church of the Resurrection. The blue and gold room is stunning, a select few guests chosen to fill the pews.

 

Yuuri’s waiting in a side room, Phichit fussing around him.

 

“You look gorgeous of course,” his best man says, stepping back and dabbing at his eyes.

 

“Vitya will steal the show though of course,” Yuuri returns, eyeing up his midnight blue suit in the floor length mirror.

 

“The pair of you will _both_ be stunning,” Phichit assures him.

 

Mari pokes her head in.

 

“They’re ready for you,” she says, smiling at the sight of Yuuri in his suit.

 

Yuuri takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. Minako is going to walk him down the isle, his father refusing to attend the wedding. His mother had called him sobbing to tell him they can’t make it, apologising profusely. Yuuri knows she wanted to be there. But what her husband says goes.

 

“Okay,” Yuuri says, his hands shaking slightly. “Let’s go.”

 

Victor’s already gone down the aisle ahead of him, he on Yakov’s arm as both his parents passed years ago. Yuuri follows, and when his eyes find Victor’s at the end of the aisle, Yuuri feels all the nerves he had melt away.

 

Victor is stunning. A crisp white suit adorns him, making him look like something god-touched. A subtle gold embroidery covers the shoulders and breast, roses blooming across him. It should’ve been tacky but it’s gorgeous on Victor, as everything is.

 

The ceremony is very beautiful. All the guests cry, even Lilia and Yakov, Yuri Plisetsky rubbing at his eyes angrily. Their vows are heartfelt and sincere, and they both cry throughout them, so they’re a little shaky.

 

The reception is held at the Catherine Palace in one of the ballrooms. It’s opulent and ridiculous and completely over the top, more guests invited to this than the ceremony.

 

Yuuri and Victor enter after having photos at the chapel and by the river and fountains. The guests applaud them as they beam together, both so beautiful it’s hard to look at them directly.

 

The food is amazing of course, a blend of Russian and Japanese so Yuuri doesn't feel completely like he is giving up his customs to be part of the bratva.

 

The first dance is set to a favourite classical piece of the newlyweds. Stammi Vicino fills the room as Yuuri and Victor waltz together, perfectly in sync, swapping the lead back and forth as always. Victor lifts Yuuri and twirls him before Yuuri slides down his body back to the floor. It’s very emotional and everyone cries again.

 

Things get a little silly as the evening goes on. Russians do love to drink, so the vodka comes out and the gloves come off. Victor and Yuuri’s dancing becomes a little more R-rated, causing Yurio to throw his shoe at them, before his Kazakh friend, Otabek, whose family has ties to the bratva, sweeps him up into their own dance. Yuri turns scarlet.

 

Phichit and Chris get along _very_ well as joint best men, dancing close together in teasingly flirty circles and dips.

 

Victor and Yuuri leave in an Aston Martin DB4, series IV convertible in gunmetal grey. They wave as they go, the roof down and “Just Married” scrawled across the back bumper in wash-off white pen.

 

* * *

 

Victor has bought him an island. A fucking island.

 

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, exasperated as he gazes at the island Victor is steering their speedboat towards.

 

“What is it, moya zvezda?” Victor asks innocently, looking very dashing as he stands at the wheel, changed into more casual clothes for their flight here. The flight, although shorter than usual because they took their private jet, was long and Yuuri is keen to be somewhere where he can relax fully.

 

“You bought it didn’t you?” Yuuri asks, raising an eyebrow at his ridiculous husband as he sits in the chair next to his, one leg crossed over the other. His _husband._ Yuuri squashes the little thrill this brings him. He is supposed to be finding him stupid.

 

“I may have got it as your wedding present.”

 

_“Vitya.”_

 

For all his objections, Yuuri adores the island. It sits just off the coast of Thailand, making the sands white and the foliage rich and tropical.

 

It is night when they arrive, the house tucked between the trees overlooking the beach lit up with low lamplight, obviously prepared for them by staff. Victor parks the boat by a little jeti, securing it before he tries to carry all their bags, only to find there is too many of his and Yuuri has to help. Victor pouts at this, but Yuuri just laughs.

 

Victor ditches the bags when they reach the decking surrounding the wide single story building. He sweeps Yuuri up into his arms, making him squawk and smack him on the chest, Yuuri’s own bags having tumbled to the floor.

 

“It’s tradition,” Victor tells him, looking very pleased with himself as he pulls back the sliding glass door fronting the house, and stepping through.

 

The lounge is large and open plan, flowing into a kitchen round the corner, all natural but modern, lots of wood and slate colours. Victor sets Yuuri down, and Yuuri gives him a kiss, before leaving him to bring in the bags as he goes to investigate.

 

There is a lowered seating area in the lounge, the couches sunk into the floor around a fireplace that will likely never get used, more likely they’ll use the fire pit outside in the heat. The kitchen is all modern, but not at all cold, just chic.

 

The bedroom hosts a huge, plush four poster bed. There is a large matt over the wood floors in here, white linen woven together with stripes of grey occasionally dotted through it. The bathroom is spacious too, with a ridiculously large tub and shower, along with two sinks. Yuuri frowns when he sees the wall beyond the bath is entirely glass, looking out onto fresh green foliage. How can he relax thinking someone is watching him from the bushes? Even if they are the only ones on the island.

 

Yuuri craves a shower after his flight, so, doing his best to ignore the large window, he strips off his light linen trousers and shirt.

 

The shower is perfect, the pressure just right as it falls from the large head.

 

Yuuri closes his eyes and tips his eyes back, basking in the feeling of being clean and warm. He smiles to himself. He is a married man. He is married to _Victor Nikiforov,_ most dangerous and powerful man in Russia, who Yuuri has had a crush on since he first laid eyes on his grainy black and white image all those years ago. He thinks of the years of heartbreak, of having to say goodbye over and over, of trying to hold it together when everyday it felt like he was falling apart. It’s all over now, they can be happy and together and a real family.

 

The shower door opens behind him and Yuuri grins, keeping his back turned. Moments later Victor’s hands are smoothing over his hip bones, his chest pressing into Yuuri’s back.

 

“Do you have any idea,” Victor rumbles into his ear, “what you look like when you’re wet and naked?”

 

“Tell me,” Yuuri prompts, his voice going breathless.

 

“An Aphrodite in mortal flesh,” Victor murmurs, his bottom lip dragging over Yuuri’s shoulder. “Poets would weep, because words can’t capture your beauty, my heart, my only love.”

 

“Tell me,” Yuuri says again, reaching back to tangle his hand in Victor’s hair, the other gripping Victor’s forearm.

 

“I love your back,” Victor goes on, and his voice is heavy with his accent. “I don’t think I tell you enough. I go on and on about your thighs, your butt, your eyes, your mouth. But I love your back, not just because of the ink. But your muscles, your shape. You have no idea, my dear.”

 

“Tell me.” And Yuuri’s voice is a whisper of need then, dripping with desire for the man with his arms around him.

 

“I love your your hips,” Victor says, pausing to bite at the nape of Yuuri’s neck, so possessive that Yuuri’s legs go weak. “I love your knees.”

 

“My knees?” Yuuri laughs.

 

“They’re good knees, moya zvezda,” Victor assures him, his hand coming to roll Yuuri’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making Yuuri let out a quiet gasp. “And I love your feet too.”

 

“Your foot fetish is not news to me, Vitya,” Yuuri giggles.

 

“Ah, but anyone would love your feet,” Victor argues. “They’re beautiful feet. Fast and strong enough to kill ten men in seconds.”

 

“Twenty,” Yuuri returns, and he feels Victor’s sharp smile against his shoulder.

 

“As many as get in your way, my most beautiful monster. You are a god of chaos and desire. Maybe Aphrodite isn’t right. Maybe you are Freyja, goddess of war and beauty… mmm… yes. You are blood and lust and sin and love and good and bad. You are a gorgeous contradiction, folded into a paradox. No artist could truly capture you, because you are not meant for anything as meagre as paint.”

 

“Vitya…” Yuuri gasps, because the praise is doing something to him and Victor’s taken his cock in hand.

 

“I would build altars to your beauty, my love,” Victor goes on, stroking him almost lazily, although Yuuri’s already painfully hard, has to put a hand on the wall to steady himself, even though Victor will always catch him. “You could have your own religion, make us devotees throw ourselves to our deaths to please you. You deserve the world, and I would damn it for you if you asked.”

 

“Ah, ah, fuck… Vitya!” Yuuri cries out as Victor’s hand speeds up on his cock.

 

Then Victor’s sliding down to his knees behind Yuuri, and he can’t talk anymore, because he’s buried his face between Yuuri’s cheeks. And Yuuri wails as Victor’s tongue laps at his entrance.

 

Yuuri shakes from the intensity of having his cock stroked and his hole stimulated.

 

“Vitya, Vitya, Vitya,” falls from his mouth, a chant to bring the devil forth, summon him to claim his god, tear him from the sky so they can sink together. Forget Victor’s church to him, Yuuri would go to hell for Victor.

 

Yuuri’s bucking his hips back, desperate as Victor fucks his tongue in. And he is good, he is so very good at tearing Yuuri apart.

 

“Vitya… Vitya, I’m… I’m going to come,” Yuuri manages to gasp out, hands scrabbling at the tile.

 

“Come for me, my love,” Victor says, one hand pushing his cheek away from the other as his other worked Yuuri’s cock.

 

And then he plunges back in, and Yuuri comes with Victor’s tongue inside him and his hand milking his cock.

 

He feels dizzy with it, the heat of the shower and the intensity of the orgasm making him sway. Victor is quick to stand and catch him. He gives Yuuri a perfunctory cleaning, his hands comforting and tender, and then he is manhandling him out of the shower and draping a fluffy towel around him. They barely dry themselves, more concerned with stumbling to the bed together, falling onto its soft, white sheets.

 

The room is dimly lit, Victor obviously having taken the time to light candles, so the light is a flickering, shifting warmth that coats them both in gold. Victor rises up over Yuuri, and Yuuri reaches for him, places a hand on his cheek and the other on his chest to stop him from leaning in just yet, to just look at him for a moment.

 

Victor’s hair is still wet, his skin pale beside Yuuri’s tanned hand. His eyes are so very blue as they gaze down at Yuuri with utter devotion, like it is written into him like scripture. And who is Yuuri next to this man? Victor may compare him to a god, but surely Victor must know that Yuuri is the lowest of the low compared to him, to his beauty, his strength. Yuuri wants to prostrate himself, kiss Victor’s feet and swear fealty. But instead he just kisses him.

 

They make love slow. It is fitting for their wedding night, painfully romantic and sweet.

 

Once Yuuri is open and gasping, Victor slides into him perfect as ever. And Yuuri shakes with it, feels tears in his eyes at the sweet pleasure pain of Victor inside him. And each rock of Victor’s hips is the most gorgeous friction, the pressure perfect and hot inside him.

 

Then Yuuri’s pushing Victor back onto his knees, coming to sit in his lap as he sinks down onto that perfect cock. And he holds Victor’s face in his hands, kisses him sweetly as he rocks his hips up and down.

 

And Victor’s gasping into his mouth, shaking apart with it. And Yuuri feels powerful, perfect and beautiful.

 

“Does it feel good, Vityenka?” he purrs into Victor’s mouth, watches how Victor’s face is crumbling with need, how if he clenches around him Victor shudders and has to rest his forehead on Yuuri’s chest.

 

“I love this more than anything,” Yuuri tells him, still riding his cock achingly slow. “You call me your Aphrodite, your Freyja, but you are so much more than myth for me. You are something beyond. And I am just a loyal follower, begging for you, for your love, for your _cock.”_

 

Victor lets out the most delicious broken moan, and Yuuri grins as his eyes slide shut.

 

Victor’s leaving helpless little kisses across his collarbone, breaths hot against Yuuri’s skin, fingers tight on his hips.

 

Then Yuuri’s pushing him back, hands on his chest as he resettles. Then starts to really ride him.

 

_“Fuck!”_

 

The curse is in Russian, which is a good sign. Yuuri loves it when he can make Victor forget English.

 

 _“Do you know how good you feel when you fill me?”_ Yuuri asks in Russian, knowing that it turns Victor on to hear him speak in Victor’s mother tongue, the words breathless as he sinks again and again onto Victor’s cock, takes that hot, hard length repeatedly into his body so he is mad with it. “ _You can’t possibly know...  The most dangerous man in Russia, the most beautiful man in the world, laid out for me like a treat. You have no idea how you look, with your fae hair and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. You’re unreal, and all mine.”_

 

Yuuri is really fucking himself on Victor’s cock now, and Victor’s body jerks with each bounce, his hands scrabbling desperate at Yuuri’s thighs as he lets out high, needy sounds. And Yuuri loves that he can reduce Victor to making those sounds. Always so proud, so perfect, now flushed and sweaty and unable to speak anything but his mother tongue and Yuuri’s name.

 

 _“I want your cock in me all the time,”_ Yuuri tells him, switching to Japanese because if Russian flips Victor’s switch, then Japanese makes him crazy with it. Yuuri watches as the words tear into Victor, who is struggling to keep his eyes open and on Yuuri. “ _I want to be filled by you all the time, by your cock, by your seed.”_

 

“Yuuri... Yuuri Yuuri,” Victor whines desperately, clearing teetering on the edge.

 

 _“Hush, my love,”_ Yuuri commands, folds his thumb into Victor’s mouth so Victor’s gasping around it, trying to suck on it but failing as the breaths are torn from him. _“I’m here.”_

 

Yuuri takes his own cock into his free hand, starts jerking himself in time to the rhythm of his hips. Victor sucks on his thumb, then manages to move it to the front of his mouth enough to say; _“Yuuri”_ in the most wrecked voice. And that does it.

 

Yuuri comes with a shout of Victor’s name, his spend painting Victor’s stomach and chest, marking him as claimed. Victor loses the fight to keep his eyes open as he comes, his hips rutting up into Yuuri then grinding.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Yuuri’s chanting as he rides his climax out, the feeling of Victor throbbing inside him, filling him at the same time, making his mind feel like it is splintering.

 

Yuuri collapses onto Victor’s chest, not caring about the mess. They breathe together, Victor’s hands sliding from Yuuri’s hips to his back. And is there anything better, Yuuri wonders, than the feeling of being held by Victor? There can’t be. He’ll die like this if he can manage it.

 

After a little while, Yuuri leans up on his elbows and takes in Victor’s expression. He looks half asleep already, always wiped after sex.

 

“You are such a guy,” Yuuri laughs. “Knocking out the moment you’ve fucked.”

 

“You’re a guy too last time I checked,” Victor says poutily.

 

“Hmm, less man than you I feel,” Yuuri says, nibbling along Victor’s jaw. “Sometimes I feel I have the soul of a woman.”

 

“I could see that.”

 

Eventually they rise, Victor grabbing Yuuri and carrying him sideways like a piece of luggage on his hip. Yuuri laughs and coughs, the position not exactly comfortable as he wraps himself round Victor’s midriff.

 

“Gah, Vitya,” Yuuri groans as Victor bounces into the bathroom with him. “Put me _down,_ you brute.”

 

“Nope,” Victor says happily, though a moment later he does dump Yuuri into the tub.

 

Yuuri goes down, long legs kicking up as he lands like a broken puppet. He frowns up at Victor, who had admittedly put him down gently even if Yuuri did sort of tumble. Victor just grins at him and blows him a kiss. Yuuri huffs, but watches as Victor turns on the hot tap, which luckily gets warm pretty quick as it rises around Yuuri.

 

Victor grabs a bottle of bubble bath from the cupboard above the sink and pours a stupid amount in, so it’s a bit like Yuuri’s sitting in a cloud. Then Victor’s climbing in behind him, same as ever, turning the taps off.

 

Yuuri loves this ritual of their love making. And he settles back against Victor’s chest to bask in it.

 

“I feel like we’ll spend a lot of this vacation in the shower or bath, what with our appetites,” he muses.

 

“Or the sea,” Victor suggests. “Or the pool.”

 

“Ew, Vitya,” Yuuri says, wrinkling his nose. “We can’t get come in the pool.”

 

“Why not? There’s a filter and chlorine.”

 

“I can’t believe I married you.”

 

Victor dunks him for this.

 

* * *

 

They do end up getting clean in the sea a lot. Seeing as it’s just them on the island, apart from the maid who comes twice a week, they wander around naked pretty much all the time. Yuuri screamed and dropped to the floor behind the kitchen island when the maid walked in on him cooking in the nude one morning. The only time they dress is the few times they take a trip to the mainland to do touristy things, or occasionally on the boat. The constant nudity leads to them fucking on every flat surface that isn’t going to get sand in uncomfortable places.

 

Yuuri cries out as he’s fucked up against the window looking out over the beach. He’d made the mistake of licking a bit of juice off his wrist as he went to take a glass of the stuff out to the pool, Victor coming in the other direction to get the sun lotion. Yuuri had been slammed up against the glass faster than he can realise what is going on, the juice spilling on the floor, then the glass shattering as it tumbled out of his hand as Victor ground his cock between his cheeks.

 

It’s good they’d stored lube all around the house, Victor growling “stay” as he went to fetch the bottle between the couch cushions.

 

And Yuuri loves it, craves it, took it with a sigh of “yes” as he is again filled by his husband’s cock. He’s pretty much always prepared these days, what with how often they fuck. It’s not that Victor isn’t willing to bottom, but Yuuri is weak for having his cock in him. And Victor gets this look in his eyes when he has Yuuri at his mercy. Yuuri loves it more than breathing.

 

They swim afterwards, Victor sun creamed up as he’s about as pale as fresh snow. Yuuri on the other hand, has gone a lovely golden colour. This of course leads to Victor wanting to taste every inch of him, pouring his praise out.

 

“I love you both ways,” Victor had declared. “You’re gorgeous like this, but you mark up so easy when you’re pale.”

 

Yuuri also takes great pleasure in marking Victor up, and loves the sight of his ownership so proudly displayed on Victor’s gorgeous, quite frankly ridiculous, body. Seeing his broad shoulders scratched up, how they narrow down to his trim waist, his perfect butt, Yuuri ends up pouncing on Victor quite as often as he does Yuuri.

 

It’s a good trip, solidifying their marriage so they face the bratva leadership as a unit, unbreakable, eternal.

 

And Yuuri faces his new position with confidence for the first time, his husband by his side, his ring on his finger. And the world will never know what hit it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You’re goddamn right the island Victor buys Yuuri is inspired by the Twilight honeymoon.
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos, comments, bookmarks, and subscriptions! Please leave more, makes a happy writer.


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